


A Thorn in His Paw

by Blownwish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crying, M/M, Yaoi, daddybek, handjob, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/pseuds/Blownwish
Summary: No one knows this Yuri - thisYura. He is not brash, he is not loud, he is not angry. He is timid and shaking and needy and aching for the slightest bit of love. No one knows, but Otabek, that he has been there, all this time, hiding under a painful facade.





	A Thorn in His Paw

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, if you're here from the Otayuri feed on Tumblr and saw the "rape" warning... it's a mistake. I meant to mark "underage" and messed up. My very, very bad. 
> 
>  
> 
> Inspired by the copious Daddybek on Tumblr. Can't do it justice but I can sure be an Amen Corner. Bless.

Otabek was a young man of many talents. Not only was he a world class professional ice skater and DJ, he was also a crackerjack mechanic, outstanding poker player (he had the face), and amazing when it came to animals and small children. All of these skills were earned through both unyielding patience and stubbornness. Nothing can resist his will, even the indomitable Yuri Plisetsky. 

Especially Yuri Plisetsky. 

This same Yuri Plisetsky is now testing that patience, as he has been all day. First, he overslept and chewed out everyone at the rink once he arrived. Otabek, who was a visiting guest at Yuri’s home rink, was shocked to his core when Yuri got in his coach's face and screamed. He refused to do a practice jog then screamed some more when his muscles stiffened up on the ice. To make matters worse, he had pushed himself too hard, trying to land a quad at the end of his practice routine, falling flat on his ass. Coach Feltsman rightfully admonished him, and Yuri all but spat in his face, making questionable comments about the old man’s parentage. 

His rinkmates shook their heads. “Prima Ballerina Plisetsky?” Mila turned to Otabek. “More like, Primadona, if you ask me.”

They went back to Otabek’s hotel, Yuri mouthing off a stream of mostly obscene, sometimes absurd scenarios he wished on the old man. Otabek said nothing in the Uber, down the lobby, up the elevator, or down the hall. He was a patient man, even in the face of this nonsense. 

But it _was_ nonsense. 

++

Once he slides his key in, once he opens the door for him, once he's closed it, he takes ranting Yuri by the shoulders, backs him up against the wall and puts a finger over the stunned ‘o’ he's made with his (thankfully) shocked lips. 

There is a sudden change in his face. The angry scowl disappears as his eyes dilate. He expects, what? Admonishment? Shaming? He is already ashamed; this is why he is acting out, like a wild animal with a thorn in his paw. No, he needs something else. 

Otabek gently combs the feather-light hair away from his face before he cradles it in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over that sweet lower lip while Yuri leers back at him. He puts his finger over Yuri’s lips, again, when he tries to speak. “You’re getting undressed.” 

He kneels to take off Yuri’s Nikes. Yuri does not resist, he just stares, as if Otabek has just told him he was in love with JJ LeRoy, while Otabek unties the laces and lifts one foot, then the other. “Are we going to…?” Yuri can't even say the words as Otabek carefully places them next to his end table, stands up and unzips his hoodie. “What’s going on?” He hangs it over the office chair next to his desk. The pants, which Yuri steps out of, follow. So do the briefs and socks. 

“Bathroom.” Otabek gestures toward it and Yuri pads forward, with slight indignance, as Otabek follows. 

“You gonna wash my mouth out with soap or something?”

He makes Yuri stand next to the tub as he runs the tap and pours out the salts his mother made especially for him. The scent of sweetgrass instantly reminds him of home. “Turn around.” 

He sighs melodramatically, but he does it. Otabek undoes his tight ponytail and massages his scalp. “Head hurts. Didn't get any coffee, today.”

“I thought so.”

He works his shoulders a little. He can't do a proper, full body massage at the moment, but he can work out the tension. Yuri groans and pops his neck. 

“Get in the tub.”

He does, carefully and with a little help. Otabek can read the stiffness in his muscles and knows all too well Yuri’s going to need an anti inflammatory if he's going to have any chance at a good night's sleep. 

He looks like a child sitting in those bubbles. “Your jacket’s all wet.” 

Otabek shrugs. His leathers have seen far worse than a bubble bath. “Take your time in there.”

Yuri lays back and sighs a real sigh full of regret and exhaustion. “You're not going to fuck me, are you?”

“Yura,” he sits on the toilet lid, “you expect me to punish you, don't you?”

His nod is almost imperceptible. 

“You punish yourself, and I want you to stop it.”

This is a harder shock than the last one. Yuri, his poor, sad Yura, chokes. Then contorts his face. Then turns away. “Fuck you, asshole.”

Yes, it hurts the beast when the thorn is pulled out. Otabek watches patiently, waiting for him to stop shaking, then reaches out to touch his cheek. “I won't let anyone cause you harm - even yourself.”

Some might consider it miraculous when Yuri leans into that touch, but Otabek knows better. It is simply a matter of logic. He is trusting of Otabek and unsure of himself, so he has put himself in his hands. “I'm so sorry, I must've embarrassed you or something -- “ Otabek shushes him and he _sobs_. “I'm such a dick! I don't mean it! I don't! I'm just, I'm just a _dick!_ ”

He turns the overhead heater on and gathers him out of the tub, pressing the thick white towel over Yuri’s flushed and bruised skin, then wraps it over his shoulders and carries him in his arms as he keeps sobbing into the crook of his shoulder, and lays him gently on the bed. 

“I don't even know…” Yuri clutches his jacket and presses his naked, vulnerable body against him. “I don't know, Beka. I don't, I don't, I -- “ All the pressure, all the intensity, all the _fear_ that comes with competition is expressed in every tear. 

Otabek brushes them away. “You don't have to.” He doesn't. He can simply _be_ , and it will be alright. He kisses him gently, breathing into his mouth, and kisses him, again, until the sobs become shudders and the shudders become a little hiccup, then dissipate. 

His poor, sweet Yura. “Be- _ka…_.” His hands are warm from the bath, shaking with emotion, and shy as they touch his jaw. “Beka, will you please…?”

He takes that hand and kisses the palm. “What do you need, kitten?” He will give it, do it, _be it_ , whatever it is. 

“I need you.” These are softly whispered, trembling words that could make him move mountains. “Please, Beka?” He shifts a little and looks away. 

No one knows this Yuri - this _Yura_. He is not brash, he is not loud, he is not angry. He is timid and shaking and needy and aching for the slightest bit of love. No one knows, but Otabek, that he has been there, all this time, hiding under a painful facade. Otabek touches him, there, right there, and kisses his cheek as he strokes him. “Like this?” He doesn't need words, the whimper says it all, so he keeps going. “Yura, sweet Yura…”

They fall back into the mattress, and Otabek watches his face as he stares back at him like a lost little boy who's finally found his home. And when he arches his back, when he cries out, when he _comes_ , Otabek knows he has found his home, too. It is anywhere he is: his sweet, beautiful _Yura_. 

He waits for him to calm down before he takes the towel to clean the mess on Yuri’s stomach. He's relaxed now, purring through that post-orgasmic endorphin high, and he smiles, all teeth, up at Otabek. 

“Better?”

“Oh my god, yeah. Way, way…” He reaches for his shoulder. “What about you?”

“I am good.” Otabek already has what he needs. What he wants can come later, when Yuri isn't worse for wear. “Right now you need ibuprofen and dinner.” 

“Low carb.”

Otabek nods as he shifts through his duffel bag. Yuri hates tap water, so he opens the minbar for bottled stuff he generally ignores in principle. “First things first.” 

Yuri takes his pills obediently. 

Room service is prompt, the hotel wifi is fast, and they settle into the bed, equally naked now, feasting on rye bread sandwiches like they're mana from heaven, while watching Game of Thrones on Otabek’s laptop. 

“You're, like, really good at making me feel better,” Yuri says as he snuggles into Otabek’s chest. “I wish you weren't just visiting.”

He doesn't remember what happens on the screen after Yuri said that. He is imagining a future when he can always be there for him. Some would say it is impossible, just fantasy, but Otabek is a patient man, a stubborn man, who can do anything he sets his mind to. 

And so he will.


End file.
